


Blood loss

by Aloe_kun



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Adrenaline, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Brief mention of throwing up, Demon Deals, Fear of Death, God there's so much blood in this, I tagged it Wilson/Maxwell but it's not that shippy, M/M, Magic, Magic Healing, Major Character Injury, Smoking, it's there if you squint, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 16:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloe_kun/pseuds/Aloe_kun
Summary: He chuckled quietly, a sort of resigned to his fate sort of action. He'd actually survived a night in the dark, seemingly only to die of blood loss.





	Blood loss

Wilson panted softly, eyes squeezed shut as he leant back against the rough trunk of the tree behind him. Cracking his teary eyes open, he could see the sun had risen just enough to banish the dark from across the land, the few tendrils still wrapped around him crumbling away into nothing. He'd spent almost the whole night without a light source, fighting off whatever was in the dark that tried to drag him away. He hadn't felt awful then, but when it was dark he couldn't see the extent of his injuries in the pitch blackness. Must have been the adrenaline that kept him going. But now the fight was no longer boiling in his blood, the pain was far worse, making his vision swim and threatening to overcome him and snatch away his consciousness.  
  
He was bleeding badly, his hands slippery with blood as he tried to put pressure on a deep gash in his leg. It was a poor effort. With his medical supplies back at his camp, he didn't have the resources to stop the bleeding. He chuckled quietly, a sort of resigned to his fate sort of action. He'd actually _survived_ a night in the dark, seemingly only to die of blood loss.

"D-dammit..." He groaned. Cursing might not be gentlemanly, but in this sort of situation he could excuse himself. 

He let his head tilt back, breath shaky. He couldn't make it back to his camp, not his condition. He screwed his eyes closed, trying to think, but his thoughts were a hazy mess. Normally when he couldn't think a hand would end up nestled in his hair out of habit, but he felt so weak...

"I don't want to die, not like this..." He mumbled. 

He felt tired, sleepy, and had to open his tightly shut eyes lest he fall asleep. He almost felt warm, but he didn't _dare_ give in to how badly he just wanted to sleep. If he fell asleep now he wouldn't wake up. He'd die. Even disoriented as he was, he knew that. A frustrated hiss of breath escaped him as he further failed at stopping the bleeding. Seeing this much of his own blood made him feel sick, the unsteady feeling rising in his throat, but if he threw up now he'd just make the whole situation so much worse.

"Say pal," A familiar voice said. The hairs on the back of Wilson's neck stood on end. "You don't look so good." 

Wilson's eyes had widened the moment heard heard him. Even with his thoughts swimming like this, he'd still know that smug, low tone anywhere.  
  
Just when he thought this couldn't get any worse.  
  
He weakly looked to the side. Maybe Maxwell had just decided he was taking too long to die, and came to kill him himself, or simply to taunt him until he bled out. He was shaking slightly, skin pale as what blood was left was pulled to his core in an attempt to keep him alive.

"Why are  _you_ here, Maxwell?"  The words were spoken with no small amount of malice. He smirked, though it was a tired one, in some small attempt to seem in control. "Come to finish me off?" 

"Not at all." Maxwell chuckled. "In fact, I thought we could make a little deal." 

The smell of cigar smoke only worsened the burning in the scientist's throat, and he had to swallow hard to keep himself from throwing up. To occupied with keeping what little dignity he had in this position, he didn't make any move to shut the magician up.

"Don't give me the silent treatment, pal." Maxwell frowned. He stubbed out his cigar on the side of the tree Wilson was leant against. He tossed it over his shoulder, the item disappearing in a flash of darkness before it could hit the ground. "I could fix you right up." 

Wilson's head ached, a pounding pain that was worsening by the second. He almost laughed at the man's words. Since when was making a deal with Maxwell a good idea?

"What's the catch?" He questioned, unconvinced. 

 "Catch?" The magician exclaimed incredulously. He let out a short sigh as he crouched at the scientist's side. He gently held Wilson's chin, disregarding the blood now smeared on his fingers, tilting the man's head to face him. "You think so lowly of me." 

Wilson was about to let loose a witty retort, only for it to catch in his throat and come out as a bloody cough. The ichor splattered over his already bloodied clothes, the remainder dripping from his lips, painting them red. He held back the undignified, pained cry that almost followed, still wanting to remain at least a little distinguished in the other's presence. 

Maxwell raised an eyebrow, a little more concerned than before. He wasn't aware that the survivor's injuries extended past the outside, and so any healing Wilson could do likely wouldn't help anything internal, not with the resources he had. It seemed that Wilson needed help more than the magician had first thought.

"There is no catch, dear pawn." He assured. "I just thought I'd do something nice for my  _favourite_ survivor." 

Wilson let out a shaky breath. He didn't want to accept the magician's help, but what choice did he really have? If he didn't accept, he'd die, end of. He was going to reply when he started coughing again, his hand going to cover his mouth as blood began dripping from between his fingers. He was dizzy, his chest felt tight, and if he didn't say something now he'd pass out before he could agree to Maxwell helping him. Swallowing his pride -and the blood in his mouth- he spoke, though his voice lacked it usual strength. God, it was a miracle he could talk coherently.

"F-fine, do what you need to." He forced out. "But I'm holding you to this 'no catches' business." 

Maxwell chuckled, placing a gloved hand over the gash on the survivor's leg. It soon began to heal, though the dark aura, reminiscent of the darkness that had near killed him, emanating from the spot looked as though it should be doing anything but healing him.

"I knew you'd come around" He said almost laughingly. 

Wilson flinched at the initial contact, but soon relaxed a little, only slightly tense as the magician healed him. It felt... Odd. The sensation was hot and cold at the same time, sending chills down his spine. Maxwell continued this; putting a hand over each injury, slowly healing it with whatever magic the throne had allowed to him. The survivor soon began to feel far better, head no longer pounding and the swaying in his vision settling down. He wiped the blood from his lips.

 "So, why help me?" He asked doubtfully. "This world is dangerous. I'll get killed eventually, so why not just let it happen now?" 

Maxwell hadn't come prepared for questions such as those. He frowned, placing his hand on the survivor's chest to begin healing whatever internal damage he'd sustained, trying to think of a quick answer.

"You were doing rather well." He said finally. "It would be a shame if you were to die now, and in such a pathetic way too." 

Wilson glanced away, huffing softly. It was hardly pathetic; sure enough he was badly injured, but after a night in the dark it was a miracle he was alive at all, after everything he'd been through. Still, he would have died if Maxwell hadn't come along when he did...   
  
The throbbing pain in his abdomen slowly subsided, leaving only the odd hot and cold sensation of the taller man's magic. The difference in height was fairly significant, even with the magician crouched down. The difference only became more apparent as the man stood, dusting himself off.

"There, that should be enough for you to find your way back to that little camp of yours." He said easily. 

The scientist sat up straight, looking up at the magician. He'd have to swallow his pride and thank him for the help, lest he lose his gentlemanly air.

"I suppose I owe you a thank you." He said, a hint of a smile on his face. 

"None needed." Maxwell laughed for a moment before he cut it short, coughing into his fist. "But do try not to die on your way back." 

With that, the magician turned on his heel and dissappeared, leaving Wilson to stand up and pick up whatever items he may have dropped. He was somewhat amazed by how effective the healing was, injuries what would have taken weeks to fully heal disappearing in a matter of minutes. ~~Could he replicate it with science?~~ He still couldn't help but wonder about Maxwell's real intentions as well, the reason he gave seeming a little lacklustre to him. But in any case, he could worry about that later. Adjusting the straps of his backpack, he paused, looking around.   
  
Now, which direction was his camp in?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dear lord there's a lot of blood in this. I'm no doctor, so the whole coughing up blood thing might not be accurate, but eh. I'm like, 80% sure you can cough up blood from blunt force trauma to the abdomen, but take it as you will. 
> 
> (I really need to brush up on my medical knowledge...)


End file.
